It Must Be Fate
by Doodleflip
Summary: You want to kill a god. Who do you call? Recently deceased assassin, Jonathan Teatime, that's who! Teatime's on a mission, and only Death can stop him. But Death's busy, so Susan has to do it. General fun, and SusanTeatime later on. You have been warned!
1. Chapter 1

STOP PLAYING DEAD, MISTER TEH-AH-TIM-EH.

"You got it…. right?"

OF COURSE.

The room faded to a hazy grey. Even Death himself blurred at the edges, and vanished. Teatime found himself alone, surrounded by a strange swirling fog. Without really knowing why, he started to walk forward. For the first time in his life (and death) Teatime found his mind totally empty. He had been used to a head of clicking and whirring, full of neat little cogs and pulley systems, with every thought slotting precisely into place. Now however… there was nothing. Not even the _thought_ of nothing. It was all just _gone_.

"Welcome."

Teatime blinked, or would have, if he had still had eyelids. The scenery had changed. The fog had been replaced by a bright white plateau, with the Discworld itself spread out in miniature far below like a patchwork quilt. It looked as thought somebody had spilt the best part of a Klatchian takeaway over there, although closer inspection revealed it to be Ankh-Morpork.

There was a person, or at least a being, in front of him. The details all seemed rather vague and unimportant, but he noticed the eyes. Thousands upon thousands of them, hovering in the air around them. Every last one was fixed on Teatime.

There was a pause.

"It would be advisable to bow."

Teatime did, with some reluctance.

"What happens now?"

"I will ignore your impertinence this time, mortal. I am Blind Io, chief of the gods. We have a proposition for you."

"You wish me to inhume somebody?"

"You ask far too many questions. Listen, and you will be told. We hear that you have a talent for achieving the physically impossible. If you fulfil this contract, we will grant you the status of demi-god. That is, you will be impervious to old age and physical illness, but can still be killed through fatal injury. If you fail, your client will punish you as he sees fit."

"What if I choose not to accept the contract?"

"This will never have happened. You will die just like any other mortal."

"I accept. Will I be granted my life back to complete the contract?"

"Yes. But you will be bound to us. If at any point you try to escape, we will consider it a failure of your task."

"I see. And who is my client?"

"Fate."

Teatime hesitated, trying to gather the little information he remembered regarding Fate. This was much harder without the actual grey matter there to remember it _with_, and it didn't help that he had never been particularly religious. He knew that all the gods could control their outward appearance, save for their eyes. Fate's were black, apparently. That narrowed it down considerably.

"Why?"

"Sorry?"

"Why do you want me to kill Fate? What is the motive behind our contract?"

"Oh. That. He always cheats."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"And then the little girl hit the big nasty ogre square between his eyes, but not hard enough to kill him because she knew that violence is not an acceptable solution for all of life's problems. The end."

Susan glanced down. Gawain and Twyla were fast asleep and snoring gently. She smiled to herself, put down the book on the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room, blowing out the candle as she went. She was just turning to head for her own bedroom when-

GOOD EVENING SUSAN.

Susan stifled a yawn, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Good evening Grandfather."

I HAVE A JOB FOR YOU.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I have my own life now. I can't just run off to do your errands whenever you feel like it."

THE FUTURE OF THE HUMAN RACE DEPENDS ON YOUR SUCCESS.

"You used to say that to make Mum tidy her bedroom."

Death looked puzzled.

I DID?

"Yes."

BUT IT'S TRUE THIS TIME.

"You used to say that as well."

OH. I SEE.

"Indeed."

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT BLIND IO AND THE OTHER GODS HAVE COMMISSIONED SOMEONE TO KILL FATE?

"I would say that that's impossible. Fate can't be killed."

MAYBE NOT KILLED. BUT DELETED.

"But what would be so wrong with that? Surely it would just give humans more say in how their lives pan out?"

PERHAPS, AT FIRST. BUT IT WOULDN'T TAKE LONG FOR HISTORY TO BEGIN TO UNRAVEL. CERTAIN THINGS NEED TO HAPPEN IN ORDER FOR THE WORLD TO MAKE SENSE. IT IS FATE'S JOB TO MAKE SURE THAT THEY DO.

"But if the gods know this, why are they trying to kill him?"

HE CHEATS AT CARDS, APPARENTLY. THE GODS DO NOT LIKE A BAD WINNER.

Susan sighed. "And what have I got to do with all this?"

I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN STOP THIS. BUT I AM BUSY. I HAVE THE DUTY. SO YOU WILL HAVE TO DO IT. I'M SORRY.

"So am I."

YOU WILL DO IT. I HAVE FAITH IN YOU.

"Just allow me to clarify this. Gods can't be killed, but someone is trying to kill Fate. That someone can't be stopped, except by Death. And I'm supposed to find Fate and protect him from this contract killer."

I'M GLAD YOU UNDERSTAND.

"But what about my job? What about the children?"

I AM SURE YOU WILL FIND TIME. YOU GENERALLY DO.

Susan gave up.

"Fine. You win. Where do I start?"

YOU REMEMBER MR. TEATIME?

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan Teatime opened his eyes. He gave them an experimental roll, and blinked twice. Yes, that felt right. The glass eye was still in place. A few ginger experiments reassured him that he hadn't even begun to disintegrate. The body was still warm, and, come to think of it, was….?

Yes. The poker was still there. The only difference was that his chest had healed around it, and pulling it out would mean ripping himself open again. That _was _a problem.

Add one visit to a dwarf blacksmith.

Subtract one large bag of gold.

Equals Teatime with only an inch of poker sticking out of his chest.

He dressed himself carefully this time, head to toe in black silk and a beaming smile. His last outfit had gotten _ever_ so dusty and torn during that Tooth Fairy escapade. And now, for some religious research.

It didn't take him long to discover that Fate was never officially worshipped, as such. Fate was notoriously difficult to please, and his most fervent followers were generally known by their pathetic desperation to "find themselves". His favourites tended to be those who prided themselves on being ignorant of his existence. Any temple erected in his honour would be almost guaranteed to fall down around the ears of its builders, killing them in the process (naturally).

Teatime had never thought much of Fate, and his research only strengthened his prejudices. Fate was for people who didn't like taking things into their own hands. Life got so _untidy_ if you left it to other people. Not only that, but Fate was a dealer in death, and Teatime didn't like to think that _anybody_ was better at his job than he was.

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

_Teatime is dead. I killed him. I know he's dead. Grandfather knows he's dead. So how has he managed to be hired if he's dead? I realise that the gods have certain powers, of course, but even they can't meddle with things like that, can they? Surely not… The whole system would be rendered defunct! It doesn't make any sense…_

Susan was padding through the library, looking for Teatime's biography. It was proving to be extremely difficult, as she didn't know exactly how old he was, and it was organised chronologically by birth. There were thousands of entries for every day, let alone every year. She was at the end of her tether when she suddenly caught sight of her own biography on the dusty shelves. She'd never thought to look for it before. Her interest overtook her irritation, and she pulled it off the shelf. It was a big, solid book, bound in sensible black leather. The single word "Susan" was printed on the front in silver leaf.

It fell open at the page of her parents' death. She flicked hurriedly on, only to land on a particularly dull afternoon spent learning the virtues of cabbages in the Quirm College for Young Ladies. She grimaced, and carefully replaced it.

As she did so, the book to the immediate right of it caught her eye. It was a sort of blueish-purplish-black colour, and it shifted in and out of the shadows in a disconcerting way that gave Susan a headache. The date on the spine revealed it to be exactly thirteen seconds younger than her own volume. The name above that read "Jonathan Teatime".

"_So you believe it is fated?" He asked, intruiged._

_The High Priest of Headless Toki nodded emphatically. "Oh yes. It is all written. One day, the flames will rise from the ground and destroy all the infidels. It is our destiny."_

"_And is this everybody's destiny?"_

_The priest looked horrified. "Oh no! Only the strictest Tokiites."_

"_I see." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And how would I go about discovering MY destiny?"_

"_Are you a Tokiite?"_

"_No."_

"_Talk to Mrs. Cake," the priest said firmly._

"_Thank you," said Jonathan. "You've been ever so useful..._

Susan shut the book. She knew where he was now, she didn't need to know any more. She half walked, half ran out to the stables, and called Binky to her. She swung herself grimly into the saddle and set off at a brisk trot.

"We're going to see Mrs. Cake," she muttered.


End file.
